


Bound To You

by bummerang



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Ghosts, Happy Ending, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 05:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12575148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bummerang/pseuds/bummerang
Summary: Qrow and Ozpin meet twice, but Qrow's timing has always been terrible and life isn't fair. Neither is death, really.(Qrow dates a ghost. It's a little hard going, but it's worth it.)





	Bound To You

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for a very brief mention of an electrical explosion/electrical fire in a school. It results in a fatality, but there's nothing graphic. Wasn't sure if I should warn for it, but just in case.
> 
> I didn't intend to write a Halloween thing, so of course an idea came to me yesterday and wouldn't leave me alone. It's not Halloweeny and I kept wanting to write more, but oh well. ( ´ ▽ ` ) Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Qrow took a handful of sand from the trash bag and sprinkled some of it on the floor in front of him. He scooted back, still crouched. “Who's the fairest of them all?”

Qrow looked at his phone, checked for missed calls and messages while he waited. When he felt the usual huff of cold air on his forehead, he looked up and pointed his phone's flashlight at the patch of sand.

_Definitely not you._

Qrow grinned. “Hey, Oz.”

\---

Almost a year ago, a couple of days after he had moved to Patch, he met Oz for the second time when he'd made his drunken way straight into the abandoned husk of the old Beacon Elementary at the edge of town. Wandering under the influence hadn't really been what he'd intended, but he'd argued with Raven over the phone, and then with Tai in-person, and in his less-than-balanced state this had seemed as good a place as any to go to cool off.

It had taken him a while to notice the weird chill that shouldn't have been there smack in the middle of a warm summer night. Even longer to see the writing on the dirt in front of him as he swayed in the courtyard, though he'd been staring at that patch of it for several minutes, feeling queasy.

_Are you all right?_

And, because his timing was never good but always interesting, he threw up.

Next thing he knew, he'd awoken in one of the charred out classrooms with no recollection of how he got there, a disgusting taste in his mouth and a raging hangover breaking his skull. And on the chalkboard, written in the dust and soot, was the recipe for a hangover cure that ended with _'Please don't throw up in my school again. I can't clean.'_

When all of it finally caught up with him after a few hours Qrow had been pretty damned freaked out, because what the _fuck_. But the cure had worked. And the note _had_ been polite.

So, like a moron, he went back.

And when their weird conversation had gotten far enough for introductions (“Sorry for puking.” – _I'm sure you couldn't help it._ ), the name in the dirt revealing itself slowly, reluctantly—Qrow felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

\---

The first time they met had been during a school picnic in the courtyard seven years ago. Just a tiny little event for the beginning of spring. It had been a thing the principal liked doing, scheduling random party days throughout the year that really just seemed like excuses to let the kids run around and have fun.

Qrow had gone, the first and only time ever, because he'd been in town and Tai hadn't been up to it. _You go, get free food, stay in sight of the girls, and be polite to the parents and teachers. Especially do that last part, I have to see these people._

So he did as Tai said, even when he'd gotten some weird side eye from a few of the parents. His piercings, his tattoos, his uninterested slouch—take your pick, but none of that had mattered when Ruby and Yang saw him trudging in and immediately tackled him to the grass, chattering at him happily like he hadn't seen them four hours ago at breakfast. When they'd finally clambered off and ran back to the other kids, a shadow fell over him and a hand reached out.

“Are you all right?”

And, because Qrow had made the mistake of looking up, all he'd said was “Uh-huh” like an idiot as the really pretty stranger hauled him to his feet with a kind smile. Gray hair, young face, really smooth voice that had this level of constant gentle amusement in it. Qrow was fucking doomed.

That afternoon passed in a blur of pleasant conversation on the landing of the eastern stairway, and by the end of it he'd mustered the courage to give his number to Ozpin, who had taken the crinkled blue gum wrapper with a laugh. Then he'd scribbled his own number on an old receipt and gave it to Qrow. He'd promised to call.

Qrow had spent the next three days agonizing over it. Maybe Ozpin had changed his mind. Maybe Qrow should call. Maybe Qrow was just utterly hopeless.

But on the third day, Tai had called instead ( _'the girls are fine, they're fine',_ but his voice kept shaking), and Qrow had gone to his laptop to pull up the story.

Freak accident. Bad wiring, bad placement, really old building. It had happened long after school was out, just a couple of people left on campus. No kids had been in that particular wing, but a teacher had been there with the principal in a classroom close to the blast. The teacher went to the hospital, but the principal succumbed on site.

Qrow's relief that Yang and Ruby had been nowhere near the school had faded into something cold and wrenching when he read the principal's name.

\---

It wasn't quite right to say that it was unfair. But it was pretty fucking unfair.

Mostly for Oz, because he was dead and apparently stuck haunting the skeleton of his school. Which was condemned but the town didn't yet have the heart to tear it down because they remembered their own. Qrow couldn't help hating it here since he remembered what it used to be with so much life. He couldn't imagine what it was like for Oz.

Qrow had asked him before, about why he wasn't moving on. “I'm no expert, but that's kinda what you're supposed to do, right?”

And Oz had written, _I don't know how._

_Fuck._ Just. Fuck.

So Qrow kept coming back, because he had never really known how to leave things like this alone. Things that hurt, that ate and ate and left so much to fill.

And how could he leave anyway, knowing Oz was stuck?

He couldn't make things better, but he could make them different.

\---

Twice a week in the evenings, he went over with his laptop and some books. Oz asked for fantasy most of the time, and Qrow got the impression he was embarrassed until Qrow told him kinda unnecessarily loudly that he also liked fantasy, because they had a bunch of the happy endings. They watched stuff ( _Why is there a livestream of kittens?_ – “Because kittens, Oz.”) and listened to music (“We must be swift as a coursing river—my nieces, man. They love this.” – _With all the force of a great typhoon, I'm sure._ ) until all three of his battery blocks ran dry.

He left the books all open in a line, keeping their covers propped open with bricks. Oz disapproved of his methods because _the spines, Qrow,_ but had to relent when Qrow had pointedly asked if he could somehow produce a gust of wind strong enough to flip a hard cover open and keep it that way.

When Oz had asked for a chess set, Qrow obliged, but warned him that he was real shitty at it and wouldn't be any fun to play against. Months down the line he was maybe a little less shitty at it because their games were less games and more Oz painstakingly explaining strategy. Huge blocks of text, very few whole sentences, and a little messy because he was trying to be quicker about it. ( _There are books._ – “You're better.”)

Sometimes, if Oz didn't want to do any of that, they'd talk.

“Ruby mentioned you the other day while she was baking. Said she liked going to your office because you had this little cookie jar shaped like an owl and you always kept it full with chocolate chip cookies.”

A tiny breeze blew by, gently flapping up the pages of the book by Qrow's knee. A laugh, he had come to learn.

“She said you used to let her take a bunch if she promised to share them.”

_I did,_ he wrote on the little board Qrow brought for a trial run and periodically swiped with powdered chalk. So far it was better than sand since he wasn't limited to the floor. Oz mentioned a while back that he was the same shape, just not solid, so that meant he had to have been crouching to write. Still a little inconvenient even if ghosts didn't get back problems.

“She liked sharing them with her dad, too. Just so you know.”

_Good._

And:

“Yang thinks she's being sneaky about it, but I can hear Blake throwing rocks at her window. From the kitchen. And I'm not even sitting in the dark, okay, the light is on because why the fuck wouldn't it be—oh yeah, laugh it up, jackass. My niece is as stealthy as a potato and her girlfriend isn't much better and I could actually cry, this shit's fucking tragic—are you going to laugh at my very legitimate pain all night?”

Also:

“Wait, you're friends with Glynda? As in Goodwitch?”

_Yes. She's your colleague?_

“She's my frenemy.”

Oh:

“Ironwood, too? Seriously? We talking about the same hard-ass here?”

_Is he also your 'frenemy'?_

Once:

“Tell me if I'm being a jerk, but is there any place you'd wanna go to if you could leave?”

_A beach. I would like to see the ocean again._

And sometimes they would just sit in silence, Oz by his side as a noticeable cold spot, while Qrow watched the trees blowing in the gentle wind, their shadows swaying and stretching over the ground. Whenever the breeze felt just a little cooler than normal, Qrow could almost imagine a faint voice in the air, humming.

\---

Oz didn't really do the offhanded approach when it came to discussing himself. Qrow had to ask, which was fine because he wanted to know, but for a while he didn't know what the reluctance was about. Maybe he didn't like talking about himself? Maybe he didn't want to be reminded of a life he could no longer live?

Qrow was betting on that second one, but when he just straight up asked, Oz wrote, _I am a very boring person._

“Bullshit.” Qrow felt indignant for him. Then came the little breeze that meant laughter and Qrow felt even more so. “No, for real. A friend of mine used to tell me that nobody is actually boring. It's just that everybody's got a different frequency of groove.”

_Groove._

“Yeah. There's lots of different groove.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Want me to teach you? I've got plenty of moves.”

_Please don't._

“Come on, it'll be—wait, I can't fucking see you, you could just lie and stand there—“

Another breeze, stronger this time, tousling his hair almost fondly and brushing dead leaves over his shoes.

\---

It was a relationship built on dirt and chalk, wisps of wind and tangible silences. Even though there was no voice or body, there were so many gestures. Qrow knew the feel of Oz's hesitation, his excitement, his laughter.

So even if it was five kinds of freaky and ten kinds of weird—

He was glad they could have this.

\---

A year on and he still wasn't all that used to a bunch of not-so-little brats calling him 'Mr. Branwen' and having to give out tests and homework and—god, he never should have let Tai talk him into this, _why had he let that maniac talk him into this?_

It wasn't a bad gig. He could rib his nieces, which was always hysterical. Summer vacations were once again a thing in his life. The kids liked him because he tried not to bore the ever loving fuck out of them. Half of the staff liked him and half of them tolerated him, which was pretty good considering his usual track record.

The only exception was Glynda, who seemed to like, tolerate, and hate him all at the same time. It was really impressive, and this delicate balance was something he was sure only Glynda could accomplish. So, of course he ended up spending most of his free time at the school hanging around her.

He could feel her eyes on his back as he perused the books in the cupboard behind her desk. They were all pretty worn, nothing compared to the ones she kept in the shelf by the front door. He took one down and flipped through it experimentally, the pages soft against his fingers.

“You had chili fries,” she said reprovingly.

He snickered. “I washed my hands. Don't worry, I know how to handle books.” He had a shit ton of them, after all. So many that he and Tai had built a huge shed out back that his family jokingly called his library.

He couldn't help it. Oz would, literally, give him the cold shoulder if he fucked up anything from a library, so every book he took to him was bought. Qrow hadn't even realized how many of the things there were until Blake mentioned it once while visiting, pointing out shelves and stacks with something like awe in her voice.

Glynda jabbed him in the side as she walked past, carrying a binder full of her students' work. “For your sake, I hope you do,” but it was more sigh than stern. Then she disappeared into the back corridor.

Qrow did not stick out his tongue. Glynda could probably see out the back of her head.

He put the first book back and pulled out another, skimmed some of its pages, then put it back and picked another. And another, starting from the beginning of the shelf, a strange feeling solidifying in the pit of his gut. He kept going, brow furrowing further and further with each book as he realized that the titles were familiar. He'd read some of these and, more importantly, he'd bought copies of all of them.

When he pulled out the third to last in the row, a book of fairy tales he also recognized and had read all the way through, he paused. There was a piece of paper sticking out, marking somewhere near the end. It was blue.

He opened the book to the page and stared at his own familiar, shitty scribble, at the phone number that was still his even after all these years.

“When you started working here, I thought you were really familiar, but it didn't click until you gave me your number.”

Qrow looked up, startled. Glynda was standing in the doorway, her gaze fixed on the book in his hands.

“I remember the day you gave that to him. He was afraid he'd lose it, so he stuck it there as a bookmark.” She smiled at the memory. “James and I teased him relentlessly, kept telling him he should call already, but he couldn't decide where to take you. He was afraid you'd find him dull. He was like that.”

Qrow resisted the urge to say he was still like that.

“When he—“ She paused, closing her eyes. Then she took a breath and tried again. “James and I came into his possessions. We were his friends, but we were also his only family. I took the books because I didn't think he would have wanted them hidden away.” She turned her eyes to him, looking surprisingly rueful. “I wasn't sure whether to call you to—let you know. You were a stranger, but—“

“It's okay,” he said. “I—you know my nieces and Tai. He told me about what happened and I looked it up.”

She nodded. “I see.”

He looked at the book in his hands, thought of _'we were also his only family'_ and wished he wasn't so shit at this. “Um. I was gonna call before—before. I was gonna give it another day and call and be like, 'hey, wanna get a drink?' Yeah, I know, not all that smooth.” He turned it over in his hands, running a hand over the back cover. “For what it's worth, I didn't think he was boring. We talked a long time up in those stairs and it was nice. He had a wicked sense of humor.”

“He did,” she said.

“Do you—okay, we both know I'm shit at this, but if you want to talk, like ever, I'll listen. I'm good at that.” She was his nemesis, sure, but she was also his friend. Probably his closest friend outside of Tai and Oz, and wasn't that kind of scary?

Glynda, to his surprise, nodded. Even favored him with a little smile. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Later, Qrow left her classroom feeling a bit lighter. Empty. It was odd, but not unpleasant, that they had Oz in common. Even if just a little.

She let him have the book.

When he went to the school that night, he took the book with him. He pulled out the crumpled receipt with Oz's number from his wallet and put it with the wrapper. The breeze in his hair felt like a sigh.

_I meant to call,_ wrote the dirt next to his knee.

“I know. I meant to call, too.”

\---

The next time he went, it was too quiet. No whispers in the trees, no rustling of leaves. It took a while for Oz to answer when he called out. He waited for the telltale poke on his forehead before he looked at the board.

_This year has been wonderful. Truly. Thank you for everything you've done._

Then: _Now you must go live your own life._

Qrow had been expecting this for a while so, for once, he was prepared. “You breaking up with me?” he said, a little teasingly.

_Qrow._ Even as writing it managed to look stern. Pretty good. _Your place isn't here._

“Yeah, well, neither is yours.”

_You're not bound here. You may live freely._

“Who says I'm not living freely?” Qrow raised an eyebrow. “What if I want to spend some of my living time with you?”

No answer in the chalk, but he could feel Oz's chill on his arm.

“Do you want me to leave?”

_Yes._ Quick, the quickest response he'd ever gotten.

“You're lying.”

Nothing. It was as good as an admittance.

“I know you mean well,” he said gently, wishing he could offer something better than words, “but I'm not doing anything I don't want to. So don't sweat it, okay?”

The cold spot didn't go away. That was a good sign.

Then, slowly on the board, _Why are you doing this?_

He blinked. _That_ was easy. “Because I like you, Oz.”

He was dating a ghost. He'd accepted that months ago. And, yeah, it was frustrating as fuck that Qrow couldn't touch him, couldn't see him, that all they really had was that brief moment seven years ago where their fingers brushed together as they handed each other their phone numbers. The memory of warm skin and a soft, tentative smile.

But what they had was still good, at least to Qrow. Unusual, not ideal, but still good.

There was a strange pause, a sudden unnatural silence like cotton in his ears. Then, a frigid breeze rose up around him, light and soft, ruffling his hair and clothes as the dust-covered lights overhead flickered on, one by one, a line that traveled down the halls and into every classroom, until it seemed that every unbroken lamp and bulb in the school was lit. The abandoned campus was now an actual beacon in the dark.

Qrow gaped, eyes wide as he stood and looked around himself. “Oh my god, are you for fucking real.”

_I'm sorry, I can't help it._ The words were sloppy, distressed.

“No, what— _don't be sorry._ This—this is—wait, so you like me, too?”

If possible, the lights seemed to brighten more.

“Holy shit, you do,” he breathed, awed.

Calmer, but still a little messy: _Yes, I do. I shouldn't, and you definitely shouldn't, but you make it very difficult._

“Fuck yeah, I do. But you! You've been holding out on me if this is you being happy.”

_Oh my god, I can't turn them off,_ wrote the board frantically.

He laughed.

\---

And this was how Qrow lived his life: dating a ghost, enduring Tai's unending attempts to teach him to cook, being the best fucking uncle he could be.

He was there for every holiday and birthday, stopped Tai from flailing embarrassingly at every one of Ruby's track meets, had Tai stop him from flailing like an ass at all of Yang's karate competitions, waved like fucking mad at their high school graduations, screamed himself hoarse at their college ones. He helped Yang move her things to her new apartment in Vale, an apartment she shared with Blake and Weiss (“Yeeaah, so we've been dating for a while.” — “I know, kiddo. Everybody knows. Secrets aren't really your thing.”). He teared up kind of a lot at Ruby and Penny's wedding and kept saying he was just allergic to the fuck-ton of flowers (“You're both beautiful, pipsqueaks.”). Tai took a million photos and Qrow brought a little stack of them the school to show Oz ("That's James dancing with Glynda—ha, I knew you'd find that funny.")

The old school building was finally torn and rebuilt as more and more people shifted from Vale to Patch. Qrow was a little sorry to see it go because it was his and Oz's. And he'd been kind of freaked out that tearing it down would displace Oz, but he was fine. More than, actually. The school had been dedicated to him, because this town remembered its own. A bunch of his previous pooled together for a simple little plaque they had placed under a tree in the courtyard. It said, very simply, _Thanks for the cookies, Mr. Ozpin._ Qrow knew the moment he saw it, soft gale rising and lights flickering to life once again in the dark. Qrow closed his eyes and could almost imagine the swirl around him as an embrace.

Talk got around about weird but benign things happening at the school. Kids trying to reach for stuff that was too high, but having the object gently nudged in their direction. The lost and found bin being oddly fuller than it was the day before. Stuff lost to the rooftops appearing in a neat pile by the lunch benches once a week. Reports of a cold spot on the landing of the eastern stairway. One day, Oz told him that Ruby had visited earlier in the day, chatting at the little marker in the courtyard (“I really wish I'd asked you for the recipe, you know. Mine never come out as good.”). ( _Tell her to ask Glynda. It's her recipe._ )

Down the line, he and Raven reconciled (“I never hated you, Rae.” — “I know. I—I know.”), left her and Tai in private (“Summer and I wanted you here. We fucking missed you.”) while he called up Yang, asking her what she wanted to do, reassuring her that there was no pressure and it was all up to her. With Yang's permission he took Raven to Vale and watched her sit quietly through Yang's rightfully burning rage (“Why the fuck did you come back now? Where the fuck were you before? You missed it, okay? I'm grown, I'm good, I'm happy, and _I didn't fucking need you._ ”)

A million little things. Helping Ruby and Penny paint their house green and pink. Giving his opinion on color when Weiss and Blake pulled him along to ten different jewelry stores to help pick a ring for Yang. Dragging James and Glynda out to Vale once a week for food, because why the fuck not. Taking Tai out on long drives when shit got bad, walking around the forest with Raven when shit got worse. Watching them work it out even with the Summer-shaped hole between them, slow and painful and never quite healed. But new. Something softer, looser.

The first time Yang grudgingly invited Raven to go to one of her matches, Raven dragged Tai and Qrow up early because she _could not be fucking late for this._ And she'd cheered and flailed like an idiot right alongside them. After that, Yang kept inviting her and Raven kept going.

After the final match of the competition, when they went to go meet Yang, Raven stood a little to the back to give Yang the usual distance. Until Yang ran up and threw her arms around her, a little bloody, really sweaty, still clutching her gold trophy in one battered hand (“You came to all of them. You really came. You looked so stupid screaming with everybody.”)

It wasn't forgiveness, but it was a beginning to something different.

And this was what Qrow had come to learn from living his life, being a friend, being an uncle, and dating a ghost: sometimes different could be better than just 'better'.

\---

He lived long enough to see some of that better.

\---

“Who's the fairest of them all?”

Oz turned with a smile, which faded quickly to shock as Qrow pulled him into a tight hug.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” he muttered close to Oz's ear, feeling strands of gray hair tickling his cheek. “I've waited forty fucking years to do this.”

Hands reached up to touch his arms, fluttering along his back. “Qrow? Are you—you're really—you're wearing all of your jewelry again,” he said, breathless.

Qrow laughed. “Fuck yeah. Forty years young here. Do you mind, though? I mean, I like 'em but if—”

“I like them. Mind, why wou—they're—oh my god, that's why you haven't been coming? You were _dying_?” He pulled back abruptly, but his hands were still on Qrow's arms, gripping like vices.

“Hey, whoa, it's okay,” he soothed. “I was properly old and crusty, remember? Died of natural oldness, here.” He grinned, lifting a hand to Oz's face. “So here I am. Almost didn't make it because some asshole was all 'you don't have any unfinished business' and I said ' yes, yes I fucking do, you blowhard'. And I'd really, really like to kiss you now, if you're okay with that.”

“Oh.” Oz's eyes widened as the words seemed to register. “ _Oh._ Okay. Yes.”

Qrow laughed and leaned in to do just that, decades of wanting exactly this driving away every hint of hesitation he might have had. Oz's lips were softer than he expected, cool, sweet. Qrow slowly reached a hand up his shirt, sliding around the smooth curve of his waist to his back. Oz's eyes fluttered closed as he breathed a quiet sigh over Qrow's lips. Qrow ran his fingers through thick hair, over the warm skin of his neck, relishing the way Oz melted into his touch, leaning almost fully into him. Qrow closed his eyes and just _felt_ , at fucking last.

When they broke apart, they slid carefully to their knees, shaking into each other. Oz was practically boneless against him, and Qrow held on, burying his face in his shoulder.

“Hey. Wanna go to that beach now?”

He felt Oz nod.

“Great. After that, let's—let's go everywhere.”

\---

They did.

And when there was only one more place to go—a place with laughter and the scent of baking and several voices shouting through the door for them to hurry their asses up, they were so fucking late—they looked at each other, hands held tight, and stepped through together.

 

-


End file.
